<figure><img width="1425" height="1027" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111152/63721dde9c7e80680e0bd50fjpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Photo: GOPAL CHITRAKAR/HIMALKHABAR ARCHIVES</figcaption></figure>The people's movement in 1990 ended the Panchayat system and ushered in <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=8381#.YmOILS8w3u0" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">multiparty democracy</a> in Nepal. But residual anger from the brutality during the Panchayat era led to protesters killing six policemen on the streets of Kathmandu on 24 April of that year. Hari Raj Adhikari, an eyewitness who was with the police at the time, recounts the event 32 years later. At around 10PM on 23 April 1990, news came that a crowd in Kalanki had seized a vehicle carrying weapons from Birganj. There were also reports of protesters seizing a police vehicle in Teku.  In the early days of democracy, outrage stemming from years of autocratic regime meant that the relationship between the state and citizens was still fraught. People were suspicious of the security forces, and there were also stories that the army had sided with King Birendra and the police with the Queen Aishwarya. When the new government was formed, the police uniform was changed from the old Khaki to navy blue. But rumours circulated that those in blue uniforms were fake. On that fateful night, protesters stopped the patrol vehicle in Teku and accused the policemen of being impostors. An argument ensued and the police called for backup of two more teams. By the time the teams arrived, the mob had gotten out of hand. They dragged the 8-9 policemen in the vehicles out on the road and started attacking them. I went to the site in civilian clothes after getting the news. The crowd had beaten the policemen black and blue, spitting and jabbing at their bloodied bodies. My friends were screaming out in pain, but there was nothing we could do. The crowd was too big.  A similar clash had also occurred on 8 April, but the army promptly came to our rescue then. That night, I was positioned in Lagan. A crowd gathered on the streets and lit fireworks celebrating the success of the people’s movement and the return of democracy.  It was past midnight and a fight erupted when we tried to calm the group. We did not have any way to call for backup, so when they started assaulting us, we ran for our lives. Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/one-moment-30-years-ago-today/">One moment 30 years ago today</a>, Mukesh PokharelWe gathered at the main intersection of Lagan where army officers found us. A commander summoned everyone stationed at various junctions.It was a large mob and we could not return to the Ward Police Office in Kalimati.There were about 80-90 of us, and we formed two lines: one for the police and one for the army, and made our way to the army barracks in Hanuman Dhoka. The next day, an army van dropped us at our station.Back in Teku, I silently watched the horror unfold, and returned. <figure><img width="1000" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111152/63721de29c7e80680e0bd510jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>Hari Raj Adhikari</figcaption></figure>Early next morning, a sub-inspector and I returned to the scene but the protestors chased us. We returned to the police station shaken. Later in the morning, demonstrators from Kalanki and Kirtipur gathered in Kalimati. They paraded the dead and injured policemen from the previous evening around the bazaar. The crowd was also dragging around the then IGP Hem Bahadur Singh.When the Home Minister Yog Prasad Upadhyay tried to persuade the mob to save policemen, they got angrier. They shouted: "Do you also wish to die?"Some 70-80 of us were guarding the police station in Kalimati at the time. The in-charge of the station, Keshav Adhikari, had fled on a motorcycle. At around 10AM, we were getting ready for our morning meal when the mob attacked and vandalised the station. We dropped everything and fled.  The mob chased us and beat us with whatever they could find. They tied a friend of ours to the statue of Mahendra on the way to Tahachal from Kalimati and cut off his ear.After the police station was captured, the then acting DIG Achyut Krishna Kharel came to rescue of the hostages. But he returned with tears in his eyes after Yog Prasad Upadhyay ordered him not to open fire. Kharel wrote about this in his autobiography (see below).Hiding from the crowd, I made my way to the rented apartment where I lived with my wife. A friend had followed me and both of us hid under the bed. My wife pulled the sheets down to hide us from view, opened the window and locked the door from outside.Knowing that a policeman lived in the house, people came looking. If they had found us, we would have been dead.We hid for more than four hours and came out only in the evening. The same night, my wife and I got on a truck and left for my hometown in Lamjung. If anyone had found out that I was a police officer. I returned to Kathmandu after a month and was placed at the same police station, after which I got transferred to Pokhara.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/returning-to-the-cradle-of-democracy/">Returning to the cradle of democracy</a>, Nepali Times-----------------------------To better understand the events, the following is an excerpt from police chief Achyut Krishna Kharel's autobiography, originally published in 2018:“Take the force to Kalimati and rescue the men held hostage there, ” I ordered the DSP of Kathmandu Valley Ravi Kant Aryal.He took with him a truck full of the police and charged at the mob starting in Trupureswor. People had begun to disperse when the Home Minister and the IGP made their way to the site from Kalimati. From far away, it looked like the Minister was leading the mob. He told the police not to advance. And so, Aryal retreated. He threw down his weapon before me and said, “They are going to kill the policemen and yet the Home Minister tells us to retreat. What is the meaning of being a police officer in this country?” I asked him not to be disheartened. When I heard the news that the mob had assaulted the Home Minister and IGP, I sent two trucks full of police to save them. With the help of a Congress politician Ang Dorje Lama, we rescued the two from near Khula Manch. Unfortunately, we were not able to free the policemen who were being held by the local security association. Reports came in that the captured police had been beaten senseless and were being paraded around town. The protesters were trying to take them to Singha Darbar via Hanuman Dhoka and Ratna Park. When the crowd reached Putali Sadak, traffic in-charge Ashok Singh reported the situation to me. I ordered Narayan Bastakoti and the team to go on an ‘all-out action’. Once the police advanced, the crowd dispersed. We charged ahead with batons and took the injured policemen and people to Bir Hospital. The six policemen who had been attacked in Teku succumbed to their injuries. The people who called themselves pro-democracy killed innocent policemen who were just doing their duty.Hari Raj Adhikari retired after serving the police for ten years and later went abroad. He returned to Nepal after 15 years and settled in Bharatpur. He is currently in the transportation business.Read more: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepals-cycles-of-revolution/">Nepal's cycles of revolution</a>, Nepali TimesAs told to Sabita ShresthaTranslated from <a href="https://www.himalkhabar.com/news/129411">Nepali original</a> in Himalkhabar monthly magazine.

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Mob, movement and mayhem

<figure><img width="1500" height="998" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141132/636bac639c7e80680e077f2cjpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Sunita Sunar is a widow at 20 after her husband, Tikaram was killed in the murders of six young men in Rukum on 24 May. </figcaption></figure>Much of the attention after the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-caste-attack-turns-deadly/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nepal-caste-attack-turns-deadly/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1594038858969000&amp;usg=AFQjCNFwO6-tK61fVzHKtMb6tZixmolFHQ">murder</a> of six young men in Jajarkot on 24 May centred on <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/they-killed-our-son-and-now-they-are-killing-justice/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/they-killed-our-son-and-now-they-are-killing-justice/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1594038858969000&amp;usg=AFQjCNFuVIALVGPnKs6ZS0QA9TiVy-bQiA">Nabaraj BK</a> and his relationship with a teenage girl from a ‘higher’ caste. Nearly forgotten in the aftermath of this tragic crime are Tikaram Sunar, 20, and Sanju Bika, 21, two of Nabaraj’s friends who accompanied him to help him elope with the girl, and who were among the six lynched and thrown into the Bheri River that evening in Rukum.  What is even less well known is that Tikaram and Sanju were married and left behind widows and young children. The bodies of both young men were found a few days later downstream from the crime scene.  Sunita Sunar is Tikaram’s wife, and wears a shite shawl on top of a white mourning dhoti. Her face is swollen with constant weeping. The 18-year-old holds her two-year-old daughter in her lap and she says she has no more tears left to shed. Her daughter keeps asking, “Where is baba?” Sunita has no answer, and sobs quietly. She eloped with Tikaram when she was 14, and says her life has now fallen apart. When they brought her husband’s body home two days after the murders, Sunita fainted. His body was pale and wrinkled from being so long in the water, and it had cuts and bruises all over.   Sunita heard that night that there had been a fight in Chaujhari of Rukum involving Nabaraj BK’s group, but at first she did not think it was that serious. Still, she was afraid, and was shocked as news came later that night that Nabaraj had been killed and his body was found in the Bheri.  “I took my daughter and went to ask the police,” Sunita recalls in a soft voice. “They said they had found Nabaraj’s body and one other body that they could not identify. For some reason, I had a premonition that my husband did not survive either.” Sunita remembers the sight of her husband’s body with deep cuts made by sickles. There was blood oozing from his mouth, nose and ears. “That image just keeps coming back to me over and over again,” she says. Sunita Sunar got married as a child, and has always wanted to complete her studies. She and her husband agreed that as soon as her daughter grew up, she would go back to school. She does not know what to do now, whether to return to her parents or stay in her husband’s house. He in-laws are day labourers and earn just enough to feed the family from day to day. Their only hope was Tikaram who wanted to open a mobile repair shop to augment the family income. “My in-laws love me, but the situation here is miserable, everyone had pinned their hopes on my husband to take care of the family, now he is gone,” she says. “I never imagined that I would be alone this early on in life.”  Sanju BK’s wife, Sabina, is just 20 and has a four-year-old son to support. She was married off at 14 by her parents to Sanju even though she had never seen him. At 15 she got pregnant, dropped out of school in Grade 8, and soon gave birth to her son.  <figure><img width="1500" height="964" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141132/636bac669c7e80680e077f2djpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>Sunita Sunar’s two-year-old daughter and mother Gita BK.</figcaption></figure>Just like his friend Nabaraj BK, Sanju wanted to join the security forces and was already training for it. “I may not get leave after I join the forces, so we should celebrate our son’s birthday before I go, he used to say,” Sabina recalls. “I still cannot believe he is gone. I feel he will just walk in the door at any moment,” she says, breaking into silent sobs. Sanju’s father needed hospital treatment for three years, and while taking care of him he was determined that their son should grow up to be a doctor. He had taken out a loan so their son could go to a good school. Sanju BK was missing, and it was mental torture for Sabina as she heard of one body after another being retrieved from the Bheri. His body was found five days later from 30km downstream.  <figure><img width="1042" height="692" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141132/636bac6a9c7e80680e077f2ejpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>The banks of Bheri River between Rukum and Jajrkot district where the bodies of the victims were found.</figcaption></figure>Sanju BK’s father is still ill and cannot work. His elder sister takes care of the family business and does household chores. Sabina wanted to get a government job to help support her family, but now there is no certainty. Six weeks after the murders, Sabina is still waiting for justice for the murder of her husband and five of his friends. There is uncertainty about what will happen to the accused. So far, 23 of the 27 charged with the lynchings have been sent into custody pending trial by the Rukum West District Court. The girl Nabaraj BK wanted to elope with and her minor brother have been sent into a correctional facility. One of the accused has been named as a mastermind, while the others have been accused to abetting a caste-based murder.Says Sabina BK: “For now, we need justice. After that, I do not know what will happen.”

“I never thought I would be alone this early in life”

The Kathmandu Valley has attracted an exceptional number of outstanding and accomplished foreigners over the decades, but few as extraordinary as Marilyn Silverstone (1929-1999).&nbsp; Frances Klatzel’s book A Portrait of Ourselves, Marilyn Silverstone: From Photojournalist to Buddhist Nun, is a fitting and fascinating biographical celebration of this American woman whose life of unusual choices took her, as the title suggests, from an affluent Jewish childhood in Scarsdale, New York to becoming an acclaimed and adventurous Magnum photographer.&nbsp; Roving the world, her camera captured many of the most iconic events of the 20th century, her images were published in Time, Life, Newsweek, Look, National Geographic, Paris Match, Vogue and other magazines. Following the teachings of Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche, Marilyn Silverstone devoted the last twenty years of her eventful life to living quietly and practising Buddhism in Nepal. Ordained as a Buddhist nun, she took vows in the sanctified Solukhumbu precincts of Thubten Choling with Venerable Trulshik Rinpoche in the spring of 1977. Living in Kathmandu until her death in Shechen Monastery, which she helped create, Marilyn wrote: ‘When I look back over the years, although I did not know it at the time, ending my life as a Buddhist nun was logical and inevitable.’&nbsp; Ani Marilyn was a familiar figure amid the sacred spaces of the Valley, the lanes of Boudha and even Kathmandu’s drawing rooms during my early years in Nepal, a large smiling presence draped in maroon robes, dyed sneakers, slightly whiskered, robust.&nbsp; As a wedding gift she gave Tenzin and I an inscribed copy of her slim volume, Ocean of Life, aptly named for the span of her achievements and expansive embrace – editor, translator, writer, filmmaker, photographer, journalist and Buddhist nun. Marilyn’s nephew wrote: ‘Her legacy was that she was always herself no matter what chapter of her life that she was living.’  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260122100124_70d489c3d161f59668f315ede60cbb213d365357b0a9f2d7aad3b537a14dcb5e.png" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260122100124_70d489c3d161f59668f315ede60cbb213d365357b0a9f2d7aad3b537a14dcb5e" data-rendition-name="original" width="1164" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="Ani Marilyn"> <figcaption>Ani Marilyn as a Tibetan Buddhist nun at Shechen Monastery in Boudha.</figcaption> </figure>  Working with a wide range of impeccable sources, Frances Klatzel has assembled first-hand the personal recollections and unsparing insights from Marilyn’s most intimate friends. One of these, Jane Abell Coon, wrote the Introduction. She was a well-known person in 1980s Kathmandu whose husband Carlton Coon served as American Ambassador to Nepal and she simultaneously as American Ambassador in Bangladesh.&nbsp; The book begins with a rare message from the 14th Dalai Lama and a touching Foreword by Venerable Rabjam Rinpoche. It ends with exquisite excerpts from a Buddhist religious tract that Marilyn had translated from its traditional Tibetan text. Marilyn’s initial trip to India was to photograph Ravi Shankar in 1955, the classical sitar maestro. Increasingly fascinated by ‘the complex and compassionate culture’ of Tibet, her Himalayan archives include images throughout India, Nepal, Sikkim and Bhutan.&nbsp; The first internationally accredited photojournalist to base herself in India, from 1959 Marilyn lived in Bombay then Delhi, with her lifelong partner Frank Moraes, the Goan journalist, writer, commentator and first Indian editor of the Times of India after Independence. INDIAN INFLUENCERS I remember being taken to meet the legendary Frank Moraes in 1973, by then politically exiled in Marilyn’s elegant but chaotic London house, a magnet for South Asian intellectuals. She was not there, but Frank’s son the poet Dom Moraes was slumped desultory on a sagging sofa. My impression of Frank was well-dressed, polite and slightly distracted. Marilyn’s talent for friendship and wide network of Indian influencers and princely connections gave her unique access to historic events, as well as recording refugees, rituals, droughts, floods, famines and funerals. In addition to maharajahs and global leaders, her images portray personal moments, ordinary people, unflinching pain and flashes of joy. She said: ‘In my job, the closer you get to people, the better off you are.’ This book is illustrated with a thrilling trove of pictures of and by Marilyn, many of which reflect the impact of Henri Cartier-Bresson who signed her up as one of the first women to join his prestigious Magnum photo cooperative.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260122100124_6dfdef41da5945aea0a8bbd8c1514af5de2adb36361d4e20c29914c59f2039e0.png" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260122100124_6dfdef41da5945aea0a8bbd8c1514af5de2adb36361d4e20c29914c59f2039e0" data-rendition-name="original" width="2124" height="1404" loading="lazy" alt="Ani Marilyn"> </figure>  Her assignments ranged across warzones in Vietnam, the Shah of Iran’s coronation, and Russian tanks rolling into Prague. Marilyn’s 1960s involved constant travel, her Magnum beat was the ‘Far East’, from Pakistan and Bangladesh to China, Korea, and Japan.&nbsp; With a knack at being in the right place at the right time, Marilyn was the only western woman journalist to record the arrival from Lhasa into ‘safety and exile’ of the young Dalai Lama in 1959. She was at Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru’s funeral in Delhi, the Chogyal of Sikkim’s marriage to Hope Cooke, and with Jacqueline Kennedy on a small boat at the Lake Palace of Udaipur.&nbsp; Marilyn snapped the Pope giving blessings in Bombay, Mother Teresa attending to the poor, and the Beatles on their way to meet the Maharishi. With Frank, she travelled to Africa and shot Emperor Haile Selassie in Ethiopia, Nigeria’s independence celebrations, and a very old and solar-topied Dr Albert Schweitzer in his jungle hospital in Gabon.&nbsp; A Portrait of Ourselves, Marilyn Silverstone: From Photojournalist to Buddhist Nun, is a highly recommended tribute to an inspirational life, told with discerning honesty and private perceptions by those who knew her best.&nbsp; Her monastic years living in Nepal continued to feature travel, hard work, undiminished curiosity, dogged fights for right, uncompromising support for others, disdain for conformity and battles with ill health, but all with her characteristic good humour. Marilyn leaves us with some sound advice in her own words: “I can say that I did it all. The secret though is just keep walking through life without analysing it too much or clinging to it too much. Just walk on.” &nbsp;&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260122100140_dc0c465e462bd14e92b2a2e79b5349f23fa039bcda81cc02a9a70adbcee35c7b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260122100140_dc0c465e462bd14e92b2a2e79b5349f23fa039bcda81cc02a9a70adbcee35c7b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1136" height="702" loading="lazy" alt="marilyn silverstone"> </figure>

“Just walk on”

The pale green ice on the top of the lake gleams in the pale January sunlight. The dark waters beneath are visible through the translucent frozen surface. This is Thulagi Glacial Lake at the foot of Mt Manaslu in central Nepal, classified as one of the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/danger-nepal-s-glacial-lakes-are-filling-up">most dangerous lakes </a>to appear in the Himalaya due to climate heating.&nbsp; The place is breathtaking not just because of its 4,050m altitude, but the scenery all around. The beauty belies the threat this expanding lake poses downstream along the Marsyangdi Valley. &nbsp; The lake lies at the terminus of the 4.5km long Thulagi Glacier. The local Gurung inhabitants call it Dona Tal. They say it started appearing in the 1960s. Local guide Chandra Bahadur Gurung, 47, has been ferrying trekkers to the spot for about 20 years.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260122100136_a34407fbb58b41554f08d392933ea32360649deaf712e2221686533f81507f58.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20260122100136_a34407fbb58b41554f08d392933ea32360649deaf712e2221686533f81507f58" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Thulagi glof"> <figcaption>MELTING MOUNTAINS: Thulagi Glacial Lake in Manang has been identified among 47 lakes in Nepal at risk of an outburst flood because of climate breakdown. All photos: DURGA RANA MAGAR</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260122100136_4d3c25c9b4f6eaff3e538b36346471c301d38338514bfdfa9ee63ccd77d20489.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20260122100136_4d3c25c9b4f6eaff3e538b36346471c301d38338514bfdfa9ee63ccd77d20489" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Thulagi glof"> <figcaption>Yaks graze below Thulagi Himal (7,059m) and Mt Manaslu (8,163m) along the Dona Khola that drains the lake.</figcaption> </figure>  “Dona used to be small, but it has now grown bigger,” he says, gesturing to how the glacier has receded and shrunk. Trekkers used to be able to go to the other side, but now the glacier is riddled with ponds and boulders falling off the moraine that make it dangerous.&nbsp; Gurung adds rather matter-of-factly: “The lake will burst sooner or later.”&nbsp; Kathmandu-based International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development (ICIMOD) has been studying Thulagi for the past two decades. Topographic maps from the 1960s and early satellite images show the lake being much smaller.&nbsp; When the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/nepal-s-resource-curse">Marsyangdi Hydropower Project</a> project was being built in 1994, the German Institute of Geology and Natural Resources with the Department of Hydrology and Meteorology measured the lake to be already 2km in length. More recent surveys show the lake has increased its size since then to more than 1 sq km. &nbsp; The lake is among 47 <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/meltpools-in-the-himalaya">dangerous glacial lakes in Nepal and Tibet </a>&nbsp;identified by ICIMOD in 2020 due to its size, the risk of landslides and avalanches, and the gradual collapse of the lake’s ice-core moraine dam.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260122100136_9b9fea3665494614c2d89e4202c735fd642a13552d67ca2be3da5c390320ca9b.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20260122100136_9b9fea3665494614c2d89e4202c735fd642a13552d67ca2be3da5c390320ca9b" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Thulagi glof"> <figcaption>Local guide Chandra Bahadur Gurung has been taking trekkers up to Thulagi Lake for 20 years.</figcaption> </figure>  In 2018 a team of glaciologists led by Umesh K Haritasya <a href="https://www.mdpi.com/2072-4292/10/5/798">published a journal article</a> about the evolution of three glacial lakes including Thulagi, Lower Barun, and Imja. Even back in 1976, Thulagi was twice the size of <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/from-nepali-press/Diverting-danger,3172">Imja glacial lake</a> in the Khumbu and six times the size of the Lower Barun. The team measured the lake’s depth at 79m, and calculated that it held 36.1 million m3 of water. Since then, Thulagi has been growing at a slower rate than the other two lakes because it is shielded by shadows of mountains. There is also not as much glacial calving in the narrow valley.&nbsp; Nonetheless, scientists and experts have long warned that a Glacial Lake Outburst Flood (GLOF) from Thulagi poses a big risk to four hydropower projects on the Marsyangdi and settlements like Besisahar and Dumre (map).  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260125130136_eac3ccf38d2f91619825ab977bb21ea3eee84d6e87939721f9a8dbb7f0f22504.jpg" data-media-id="editor_8" data-image-id="20260125130136_eac3ccf38d2f91619825ab977bb21ea3eee84d6e87939721f9a8dbb7f0f22504" data-rendition-name="original" width="2076" height="1444" loading="lazy" alt="Thulagi map"> </figure>  The lake feeds into Dona Khola, a tributary of the Marsyangdi where the 49.9MW Dona Khola hydropower project is being built at a cost of Rs10 billion. Another 42MW Super Dona Khola project is planned on the river. “One of the trigger points that could lead to a glacial lake outburst could be the steep lateral moraine, which might be weakened by rapidly melting permafrost,” says Scott Watson, a University of Leeds researcher who was part of the team that conducted the 2018 study. Locals are already witnessing what Watson describes. They say that it was easy to reach Thulagi’s headwaters even until a few years ago, but that is now dangerous because of ice and rockfalls.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260122100136_217a1951a620e8efe11e5936600be172874976a0c04a1031495cf6687ce8f82c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_9" data-image-id="20260122100136_217a1951a620e8efe11e5936600be172874976a0c04a1031495cf6687ce8f82c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1426" height="1070" loading="lazy" alt="Thulagi glof"> <figcaption>The 50MW Upper Marsyangdi Hydropower Project station in Lamjung. A Thulagi Lake outburst would damage four hydropower projects on the Marsyangdi and its tributaries.</figcaption> </figure>  GLOF WARNING&nbsp; Glaciologist Rijan Bhakta Kayastha has been studying Thulagi since 1994, and was part of a team that discovered that the lake’s terminal moraine was made up of rocky soil on top and ice at its core.&nbsp; In 2020, Kayastha's team published a study that modelled the route of a possible GLOF. They found that if the lake burst, it would take 2.5 hours to reach Dharapani, and 4 hours to reach Bahundanda 39km downstream. The surge would be 13.7m high at Dharapani and 15m by the time it reached Taal, the village most at risk because it is situated only a few metres above the Marsyangdi. ‘Considering the size of the Thulagi glacial lake and its dam, it seems unlikely that a rock fall or avalanche would cause the lake to breach the moraine dam,” concluded the study. “But an earthquake or climate change would require a separate study. At present, there is no immediate or imminent threat of this glacier bursting.” MEMORIES OF 2021 Across Manang valley, residents are haunted by the memories of the <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/himalayan-floods-a-sign-of-worse-to-come">2021 flood on the Marsyangdi</a> that swept away parts of Chame, Dharapani, Naso, and Taal villages.&nbsp; Kamarkali Gurung, grew up on the banks of the Marsyangdi in Dharapani, and had never imagined that the tranquil river she knew could become such a monster. She had saved up to build her own three-story property with 17 rooms.&nbsp; Her family was away that June evening when the flood swept away her hotel. “Not even a spoon remained, everything was gone,” says Kamarkali. “Losing the hotel hurt like losing a loved one. The Marsyangdi flows through my house now, I can never go back.”&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260122100136_925087c286f18a0374f5d2fae5cc528b6e8b5a55e02813e470c49b923b4f193a.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="20260122100136_925087c286f18a0374f5d2fae5cc528b6e8b5a55e02813e470c49b923b4f193a" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Thulagi glof"> <figcaption>SURVIVORS: Kamarkali Gurung's hotel was swept away by the 2021 flood on the Marsyangdi. She now operates her hotel from a rented house in Dharapani.</figcaption> </figure>  Surendra Gurung, also a hotelier, was in Dharapani the night of the flood, and can still remember the fear as the river roared towards the village. “I did not know if I would live or die,” he says.&nbsp; Sirantal village was merely 10m above the Marsyangdi, and was completely destroyed by the flood. Thirty-two people were rescued by army helicopters, and most of the families have now relocated to Taal.&nbsp; One of them is Singha Bahadur Gurung who also ran a lodge for 20 years. “We did not have to buy anything except rice, the soil in Sirantal was so fertile,” he remembers.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260122100136_9da9290e59a6d565ae9cb81a850f725ccd937fd658d0adfabccfe4114ec94bed.jpg" data-media-id="editor_12" data-image-id="20260122100136_9da9290e59a6d565ae9cb81a850f725ccd937fd658d0adfabccfe4114ec94bed" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Thulagi glof"> <figcaption>Singha Bahadur Gurung operated a lodge in Sirantal before the flood swept it away in 2021.</figcaption> </figure>  Marsyangdi now flows through where Singha Gurung’s village used to be. “Ever since the flood, I am terrified every time it rains from June to August,” he says.&nbsp; The 2021 flood was during the monsoon, and was caused by unusually heavy rainfall in the catchment. A GLOF on the Marsyangdi would be much more destructive. Roshni Ghale, 46, runs a hotel in Taal, and escaped with her family to a nearby cave as the flood engulfed nearby homes.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260122100136_7a6b74a4c33b597e2815b035ec5d56ffea35923016518f0fb35bcc4fc925dccd.jpg" data-media-id="editor_13" data-image-id="20260122100136_7a6b74a4c33b597e2815b035ec5d56ffea35923016518f0fb35bcc4fc925dccd" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Thulagi glof"> <figcaption>Roshni Ghale spent six months after the 2021 flood rebuilding her hotel in Taal. Tourism has steadily picked up in the four years since the flood. </figcaption> </figure>  “We spent the next six months after the flood rebuilding our lives, going to bed hungry many a night,” she recalls. In the four years since, tourism has picked up again, but the<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/the-unseen-wounds-of-climate-disasters"> community is still traumatised</a>. In the wake of the floods, the government had begun talks to rehabilitate and repatriate the community, but until now, they have been <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/from-one-disaster-to-the-next">empty promises</a>. In any case, the people here, most of them experienced hoteliers whose livelihood depends on tourism, are unwilling to uproot their lives and start over elsewhere.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260122100136_9a13c863422806eefdcd826ed12f9906e2372bd8f60f83c5351652eccf050384.jpg" data-media-id="editor_16" data-image-id="20260122100136_9a13c863422806eefdcd826ed12f9906e2372bd8f60f83c5351652eccf050384" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="844" loading="lazy" alt="Thulagi glof"> <figcaption>Most of the survivors of the 2021 flood on the Marsyangdi from villages like Sirantal have relocated to the upstream village of Taal, which itself was hit by a monsoon flood in 2021.</figcaption> </figure>  DISASTER PREPAREDNESS Even though studies have assessed the risk of GLOFs in Manang and across Nepal, and warned about the damage that such floods could cause, it took until 2021 for early warning systems to be installed on the banks of the Marsyangdi and in the town of Taal.&nbsp; But beyond that, there has been little preparedness. Early warning systems and disaster preparedness are necessary not just along the Marsyangdi but also at and around Thulagi itself, say experts. Locals here are becoming increasingly aware of the risk posed by the expanding lake up the valley, but are reluctant to leave homes and communities that they have lived in for generations. The hydropower projects on the Dona Khola promises jobs, and the local government is upgrading the hiking trail to Thulagi Lake which has become a tourist attraction. “Manang now gets <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/too-little-snow-too-much-rain">too little snow and too much rain</a>, and the Marsyangdi charts its own course,” says Min Rashi Gurung, chair of Ward-1 of Naso rural municipality, where Thulagi is located. &nbsp; But help may be on the way.Last year, the Green Climate Fund (GCF) approved a $36.1 million grant to help Nepal reduce risk of GLOFs in Thulagi and four other glacial lakes. The project is managed by the government and the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP). The project is set to begin next fiscal year, and will reduce the water level in the four glacial lakes including Thulagi, similar to what was done in Imja and Tso Rolpa, says Dinkar Kayastha at the Department of Hydrology and Meteorology. &nbsp; Centre for Investigative Journalism - Nepal

Hotter Himalaya melts glaciers

This is the 81st episode of Diaspora Diaries, a Nepali Times series in collaboration with Migration Lab providing a platform to share experiences of living, working and studying abroad. I went to Australia in 2008 because everyone was headed there. It was my first time leaving the country and my first job. My college helped me find work as a kitchen helper at a Brisbane restaurant.&nbsp; I did not know that being a kitchen helper meant washing dishes. I was young and did not know how to wash dishes or how to handle the steam, the hot water, and the busy kitchen. The utensils were thrown at the dishwashing station continuously, and water splashed on my face. My shoes and clothes were always wet. It was an on-call job. A couple of days into the job, I was asked to come in when I was at the movies. I refused. They fired me. That was that. I then worked on a farm, picking lemons and oranges. The lemon work was particularly hard because I would get cuts all over my hands. This hustle was not for me.&nbsp; Within a year in Australia, I decided to return to Nepal because the foreign life did not suit me. After spending eight months in Nepal, reality sank in. Nepal was not all that great either. I went back to Australia. On the plane, I befriended a Nepali woman who was homesick and a first time traveler. At the immigration in Australia, the officer noticed my long absence and started interrogating me. He noticed the Nepali woman waiting for me and asked who she was. Without thinking I lied that she was my girlfriend. That seemed to do the trick because he did not want us to be separated. He stamped my passport. She went her way. I went mine.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20260127130112_5e7bfa6acc5f94d5f1905537e387c2d4169469679ace2b71de368912f3bd514f.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20260127130112_5e7bfa6acc5f94d5f1905537e387c2d4169469679ace2b71de368912f3bd514f" data-rendition-name="original" width="987" height="1004" loading="lazy" alt="DD 81 NT"> </figure>  In Sydney, I again found a dishwashing job at a fine dining restaurant. A Sri Lankan colleague helped me learn the job. The pace at which I had to do the dishes was insane but I got the hang of it in two weeks. I always dreamt of one day wearing the chef’s white coat. It commanded respect, I could tell. In addition to becoming good at my job washing dishes, I also had good language and networking skills so I built good relationships with colleagues. There was a need for a pizza chef at the restaurant. It was expensive to hire someone new, and they asked me if I was up for the job. I said yes even though I knew nothing about making pizzas. My Italian colleagues coached me and before I knew it, I became better than others at the job. Soon, I realised that I did not just want to make pizzas. Whatever I wanted to learn, I just asked seniors to take me under their wings and I would help without pay. They would agree but still pay me. It wasn’t a strategy per se, I genuinely wanted to learn. At some point, a Japanese sous chef in my restaurant and I had coincidentally applied to the same restaurant, and there, under him, I got to learn even more. Working with a Japanese chef is really difficult, but you learn a lot. He would sometimes even hold my hand with tongs dipped in hot water when I screwed something up. I worked in a few restaurants after this and was earning well. When one of my colleagues, a dishwasher, was let go unfairly, I decided to leave because I did not want to be a quiet bystander to this act. I returned to Nepal immediately after this.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026012719010_f33ba38bb5f86f1d33262fd0d7ccd09ed01f6cc52148ca3d4cd66c434b695730.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2026012719010_f33ba38bb5f86f1d33262fd0d7ccd09ed01f6cc52148ca3d4cd66c434b695730" data-rendition-name="original" width="1200" height="1600" loading="lazy" alt="DD 82"> </figure>  I started a restaurant called Ghumti, but it was struggling. The location of the restaurants was not good and it failed. I bought another restaurant in Darbar Marg. I was managing two restaurants when Covid hit. The rent kept piling up, and there was no revenue. I took a huge loss. I gave them up and returned to Chitwan and started making migration plans. I came across a job vacancy for Alba in Qatar by the famous Enrico Crippa. I still remember the heat when I got out of the airport in Doha, it was like entering an oven. Thankfully, I had a Nepali roommate who showed me around and helped me adjust.&nbsp; The hotel was still under construction, but training had started. We worked really hard for the opening and things went well. In 2023, we even won the Best MENA Restaurant award. But at some point in 2024, the international Crippa chain decided to leave.&nbsp; Some colleagues including the head chef left and I suddenly was put in charge. I had some head chef experience from Australia and had previous experience working in high pressure environments, so I stepped up. We had to start from scratch again, this time as Alba in Raffles, Doha.&nbsp; The name of our restaurant comes from the Alba white truffle, which is the best available and is expensive, selling at around 40,000 QAR per kg. We had heard the official announcement that the Michelin was coming to Qatar, and we worked even harder.&nbsp; Michelin inspections are strict, highly secretive and you have no idea you are being investigated. Even then, we were up for the game. We were ‘selected’ which meant we had potential.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026012719010_bab3a904af69603e9e79f333aeea89b035401c0c8d1750930107f3594ff1f565.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="2026012719010_bab3a904af69603e9e79f333aeea89b035401c0c8d1750930107f3594ff1f565" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="697" loading="lazy" alt="DD 81"> </figure>  I went to the award ceremony with low expectations. But because they announce the name alphabetically, Alba came first. I was very happy and felt validated. Being recognised as a Michelin one star restaurant is a huge achievement for us. My MD reminded me of a promise I had made of getting a Michelin tattoo if we got the award. I guess I will get it done when I come to Nepal next. My plan is to get a tattoo that captures my journey right from the dishwashing days.&nbsp; I have cooked for Obama, Beckham, Kaka, Trump, 50 Cent, Lindsay Lohan, you name it, because our restaurant is visited by high profile guests. At first, I used to feel the pressure. Now I view all guests as the same. The food you make is the same no matter who is eating it. I love the work. In fact, it does not feel like work. The rush in the kitchen, the atmosphere, the heat, the scent, I live for it. When I am not working, I get bored. It is like an addiction without which I get withdrawals. I want to contribute in introducing Nepali cuisine and ingredients in the worldstage. Nepalis overseas have a lot of potential in the hospitality sector. But my advice to youth is to focus on building a strong base and invest in learning. It is increasingly common for Nepalis to job hop for a salary jump. While other skills like language are also important, it is the hard skills that we really need to focus on. In our field of work, it is the plate that needs to speak.

Sky is the limit

A mighty metal bird, ‘Heron on Hunt’ spreads its wings and unhinges its mouth hungrily. It looks down at ‘The Defending Crab,’ which has windshield wipers for legs and opens its pincers defiantly at the heron, daring it to attack. The crab shell is made of a ceiling fan, the blades of which have been cut up to form the bird’s wings. “The story is that you are what you eat,” says artist <a href="https://taragaonnext.com/events/artist-in-studio-9-metamorphosis-by-saurab-koirala/" target="_blank">Saurab Koirala</a>, whose solo exhibition ‘<a href="https://taragaonnext.com/events/artist-in-studio-9-metamorphosis-by-saurab-koirala/" target="_blank">Metamorphosis</a>’ at <a href="https://taragaonnext.com/events/archiving-for-the-future-an-intersection-of-heritage-and-architecture/" target="_blank">Taragaon Next </a>has sculptures made of material retrieved from garbage warehouses. Koirala was in the studio when protestors ransacked the adjacent Hyatt Hotel on 9 September. The windows of the iconic museum designed by <a href="https://www.archdaily.com/957728/carl-pruscha-an-architect-investigating-overlooked-territories" target="_blank">architect Carl Pruscha</a> in the 1960s were all shattered, but the studio survived. He used the broken glass to make fins for his fish sculptures and wings for insects.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026012409010_0c6c0f6d69472940e1c623db7bae62235a18ded418066b1c8ecc89485d76dcd4.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="2026012409010_0c6c0f6d69472940e1c623db7bae62235a18ded418066b1c8ecc89485d76dcd4" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="Saurab Koirala exhibition Taragaon Next NT"></figure>  Metamorphosis is a reference to the transformation of trash into art, but it is also fitting because many of the repurposed items are of insects: a firefly, a dung beetle, a spider, a dragonfly, a queen ant. The most striking are the pair of praying mantises, the smaller one is black, made of windshield wipers, and the larger grey one is made of a motorcycle silencer, bicycle parts, and a fluorescent tube holder. About the unrealistic size difference, Koirala notes that each piece is made of a component that defines its size. For the larger grey mantis, the defining piece is the silencer that makes up its torso. “The mantises are mating,” Koirala explains. “The female mantis will cannibalise the male afterwards, and the dragonfly witnesses the whole scene.” It is possible to look at each installation and immediately recognise what it is meant to be, but on looking closer we see what the parts are made of, and how. The exhibition is from Koirala’s Taragaon Next residency program sponsored by the Saraf Foundation.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026012409010_35d47a71c3e357d4cdba166cdcbf37019639c68a3d69a158f19fe97ea48065ea.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="2026012409010_35d47a71c3e357d4cdba166cdcbf37019639c68a3d69a158f19fe97ea48065ea" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1000" loading="lazy" alt="Saurab Koirala exhibition Taragaon Next NT"></figure>  Koirala thinks of himself as primarily a painter and a caricature artist, and not a sculptor. His mother was a teacher, and would make miniature animals, gods, houses for her students. “Seeing how happy she was doing that made me want to do it too, although she did not want me to be an artist,” Koirala recalls. Some of his mother’s creations are also on display at the exhibition. Koirala got more experience working with 3D models digitally in his work at Incessant Rain animation studio, especially animals. This seems to have given him strong visualisation skills that he has put to use in the art pieces, using minimal bending and cutting. Koirala participated in the WastArt Competition in 2018, where his Danphe sculpture made from colourful coke and soda cans was so striking that it became a part of the permanent collection at the Sagarmatha Next Art Gallery in Syangboche. Koirala worked in the studio in Khumbu, fashioning yaks and bees out of trekking trash.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2026012409010_253578bca93f136dca51102fc03a675cc3a8f47ba0b2d31ae2a4020c2c6e7485.jpg" data-media-id="editor_6" data-image-id="2026012409010_253578bca93f136dca51102fc03a675cc3a8f47ba0b2d31ae2a4020c2c6e7485" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="1500" loading="lazy" alt="Saurab Koirala exhibition Taragaon Next NT"></figure>  “My back hurts,” he grimaces as he opens the doors to the studio, an unassuming shed a short walk from the exhibition which is littered with metal spare parts for future art. He has gone through three whole bicycles with a power saw. Koirala seems to want to alter the scrap as little as possible, and it is uncanny how well some of it fits the pieces. The aerodynamic curved fuel tank of a Bajaj Avenger motorcycle becomes the abdomen of a gigantic queen ant. A mosquito repellent becomes the green body of a spider. A stapler and a coconut turn into a snail. The steel legs of a rolling office chair curve exactly into the legs and paws of a fox in motion. “I did not want the animals to be in static poses. I wanted to capture dynamic movement,” says Koirala. Fittingly, most of the parts he has chosen have come from vehicles: bicycles, motorcycles, scooters, car horns, air filters. While Koirala’s work in his Sagarmatha Next residency was about waste encroaching into nature in the mountains, his work in Metamorphosis is a nostalgic memory of a happy childhood in Biratnagar. ‘There used to be abundant dragonflies in my hometown,’ writes Koirala in his description. “As kids, we would catch them and tie threads to their tails and fly them like kites.” The message about the degradation of nature is more valid than ever. The world is seeing the mass extinction of insects, and uncontrolled urbanisation of polluted Kathmandu Valley means only ants and some spiders survive. Artist in Studio #9: <a href="https://taragaonnext.com/events/artist-in-studio-9-metamorphosis-by-saurab-koirala/" target="_blank">Metamorphosis</a> <a href="https://taragaonnext.com/" target="_blank">Taragaon Next</a> Till 30 January 10AM-5:30PM

lynching

Mob, movement and mayhem

“I never thought I would be alone this early in life”

“Just walk on”

Hotter Himalaya melts glaciers

Sky is the limit

Turning trash into sculptures